he deuce! the deuce!" said the peasant, looking about him, and
scratching his chin. "What a story is this! To work, to work!--that is
soon said. Let us look about a little. Is there no way of finding thirty
lire among so many fellow-countrymen?"

The boy looked at him, consoled by a ray of hope.

"Come with me," said the peasant.

"Where?" asked the lad, gathering up his bag again.

"Come with me."

The peasant started on; Marco followed him. They traversed a long
stretch of street together without speaking. The peasant halted at the
door of an inn which had for its sign a star, and an inscription
beneath, _The Star of Italy_. He thrust his face in, and turning to the
boy, he said cheerfully, "We have arrived at just the right moment."

They entered a large room, where there were numerous tables, and many
men seated, drinking and talking loudly. The old Lombard approached the
first table, and from the manner in which he saluted the six guests who
were gathered around it, it was evident that he had been in their
company until a short time previously. They were red in the face, and
were clinking their glasses, and vociferating and laughing.

"Comrades," said the Lombard, without any preface, remaining on his
feet, and presenting Marco, "here is a poor lad, our fellow-countryman,
who has come alone from Genoa to Buenos Ayres to seek his mother. At
Buenos Ayres they told him, 'She is not here; she is in Cordova.' He
came in a bark to Rosario, three days and three nights on the way, with
a couple of lines of recommendation. He presents the card; they make an
ugly face at him: he hasn't a centesimo to bless himself with. He is
here alone and in despair. He is a lad full of heart. Let us see a bit.
Can't we find enough to pay for his ticket to go to Cordova in search of
his mother? Are we to leave him here like a dog?"

"Never in the world, by Heavens! That shall never be said!" they all
shouted at once, hammering on the table with their fists. "A
fellow-countryman of ours! Come hither, little fellow! We are emigrants!
See what a handsome young rogue! Out with your coppers, comrades! Bravo!
Come alone! He has daring! Drink a sup, _patriotta_! We'll send you to
your mother; never fear!" And one pinched his cheek, another slapped him
on the shoulder, a third relieved him of his bag; other emigrants rose
from the neighboring tables, and gathered about; the boy's story made
the round of the inn; three Argentine guests hurr